A shirt removed, a beer knocked to the floor, we relocate to his bedroom.
One. He kisses his way down my soft, naked body and caresses my clit with his tongue. His hands on my thighs, pulling his face towards my cunt, I haven’t felt a man’s mouth on my pussy in far too long. Apparently I missed it more than I thought.
“By the way, you’re a great kisser,” he sounds surprised.
“You’re only saying that because we kiss the same. So naturally, I agree,” he seconds my conclusion.
Two. Perhaps I’m the only one who is still excited by missionary, who still becomes more aroused as I watch my man’s stiff member thrust in and out of me, feels sexy as he looks into my hungry eyes, screams as I claw at his back, swoons as his lips meet mine during intercourse.
“I’m a sucker for the post-coital stuff,” he kisses my forehead as we lay comfortably in his bed. Those words only make me more attracted to him; a perfect balance of sexual dominance and emotional sensitivity.
Three. He bites my neck and pinches my nipples.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” he’s hesitant, our first sexual encounter.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be,” I reassure him.
“Oh, is that so?” he asks. Harder. More forceful. He’s learning aggression turns me on.
He slaps my face hard enough to make it sting, and I like it. He hits me again and I moan. Squeezing my nipples, I feel the blood rush to my cunt. Hot and aroused, I don’t want him to stop hitting me. He doesn’t.
Four. I’m on all fours, he slides his dick in from behind. He’s thrusting hard and spanking my ass; I rub my own clit to take it up a notch. One more strike across my face and I’m content.
Pillow talk between rounds. His ex-girlfriends, his family, his job. My school, my submission, my blog. Mutual admiration for sex, writing, and cuddling. He’s attempting a novel, I’m cringing at my own. He holds me in his arms, analyzing my tattoos. I kiss him the way I would a genuine friend – with love and admiration – but we’ve only just met.
Five. “It’s a shame you don’t like being on top. I feel like with your submission, it could be quite fun.” A gentle hand on my throat accompanied by a playful slap demonstrate his point.
I admit I’m intrigued. We begin making out again, my enthusiasm for his idea made clear.
He holds me up by my throat as he enters me, keeping dominance from beneath me. Fast, rough, and he’s pinching my sensitive nipples again. He’s grunting and thrusting; unexpectedly, I’m perfectly comfortable on top of him.
His aggressive hand on the back of my head pulls me toward him as he whispers in my ear, “Tell me you want it. I want you to come.”
Four letter words tumble out of my mouth between moans and gasps for breath.
“Your cock feels….so good…just keep…pounding…my pussy…baby let me come…can I come on your dick?”
Panting, I collapse on top of him.
“Permission granted,” he smirks, pulling me next to him once again.
“You know, for being so much younger than me, you don’t feel very young,” he says. An eight year age difference, this is becoming expected of me.
“Yeah? Glad to hear it,” I don’t know how else to respond, though I’m pleased.
“But there is one thing that conveys your youth,” he continues. “Everything with you feels…new. Fresh. Enthusiastic. And I mean that in the best way.”
Six. Spooning, cuddling, he less-than-innocently reaches down my thigh. The anticipation makes me wet. I moan as he touches me, still craving his sex.
“You can go almost as long as I can,” he responds to my wetness. “Impressive.”
“Under the right circumstances,” I agree.
“And what are said circumstances?”
“When you fuck me the way you do.” I close my eyes and let him touch me, breathing in his scent and exhaling satisfaction.
Seven. Spooning again, he pulls one of my legs onto his shoulder, my other leg now inbetween both of his. I exhale as he enters me, caressing the length of my torso with his free hand.
“See? I can be gentle sometimes,” he jokes before he kisses me lightly.
“Didn’t know I could enjoy it,” I remark, holding his face in my hand. His scruffy facial hair complements his general demeanor.
Thrusting gently, appreciating every inch of him against my delicate inside, I’ve never felt so emotional during intercourse. I’m still holding his gaze as I finish one last time for the evening.
His. My head nestled into his shoulder, my hand travels down his strong, masculine body. I slide the condom off and toss it in the trash so I can stroke his shaft.
I run my tongue along his dick. Ignoring the taste of rubber, I’m excited to shift the focus to him after he’s been so generous. After an hour of intermittent intercourse, it doesn’t take much to get him off. My mouth around his dick, alternating between focusing on the head and deepthroating him.
I love the way he moans, the way he strokes my hair. Unafraid to loudly, verbally express his ecstasy.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whispers his announcement as he grabs hold of my head. I feel his cock pulsating in my mouth just before he comes, then swallow him down.
He laughs. Not a subtle giggle, but a fit of laughter.
“Don’t worry, this always happens when I come,” he reassures me between breaths. “I suppose I’m just in high spirits.”
Odd, yet endearing, we embrace as he laughs into exhaustion.